


Common Ground

by herbailiwick



Series: The Legacy is Bullshit and Hunters are Brutes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking & Talking, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://johncroftianlullaby.tumblr.com/post/36791962147/winter-drawing-writing-challenge">Winter Writing/Drawing Challenge</a> Day 23 - Sick</p><p>Well, I did it. I shipped the grandpas.</p><p>Samuel is forced to take care of Henry one night. Then, he kind of starts to want to. The feeling is mutual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Ground

Samuel shook his head. "Goddamn Winchesters," he said. "I swear."

Henry glared. "You happen to be nursing a broken wrist," he pointed out. 

Samuel laughed derisively. "Oh, you might have gotten out of that last one without much more than a scrape," he noted, glancing at the scrape on the side of Henry's once scar-free face, "but that's nothing to brag about."

Henry's mouth thinned into a twitching line. "Oh, and a broken wrist is something to brag about? Great, I'll tell that to the next child who falls off a swing." 

Samuel threw the box of Kleenex at Henry with force, Henry making a sound of protest as the box hit him square in the face before falling innocently into his lap on the bed. "You're lucky the Creator saw fit to keep me around. I'm doing you a favor."

Henry looked down at the Kleenex box in his lap and sniffed, taking a tissue out of the box. "You're lucky I'm back too," he pointed out. He paused. "For what it's worth, I too wish both of us could have stayed in Heaven. It was peaceful there." They'd ran into each other once. They hadn't minded. Petty grievances didn't have any place there.

Samuel closed the door and left.

***

"Need anything?" Samuel said gruffly, eyeing Henry. 

"Entertainment maybe," Henry sighed. He'd gotten so sick because people from the 1950's weren't meant to come into contact with modern strains of common sickness. Plus, he really did sort of have, as Samuel put it, "the immune system of a baby bird".

"I don't like being cooped up," Samuel admitted. "And it's...strange, don't you think? Both of their grandfathers brought back to life in 2013."

"The Mayans were wrong," Henry said, moving his aching body slowly, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "You know, Sam said there was a way to watch Casablanca here."

"Ah. Yeah. There is," Samuel said a little awkwardly. "Yeah, come on. They left me here to help you out. I know that." He scratched at the back of his head. "How's the fever?"

Henry reached into his robe pocket for the weird thermometer that beeped when it was done. 

"One hundred," Henry said, placing it back in the robe pocket and stretching slightly. "Everything is...still new. I'd appreciate your help with the picture. I really would."

Samuel shrugged easily. "I had about two years to get used to this stuff, and I came from '73." He moved out of the doorway to let Henry pass, Kleenex box in hand. "That's about seventeen years I have on you, technology wise."

Henry nodded. 

***

"I'm sure I can manage—"

"I still don't trust you around this thing," Samuel said, leaving no room for argument. "Sit and wait for me. Just...don't touch anything. I've got it under control."

Soon enough, Henry heard the sound of popping coming from the bag in the microwave. 

"If they're called conveniences, why do they all have too many buttons and a slew of danger warnings?" Henry asked.

Samuel had no answer for that.

***

"I knew you'd cry," Samuel complained, eyeing Henry's face awkwardly. 

Henry glanced over self-consciously, then looked back at the screen and sniffed from a combination of mucus and nostalgia. He tugged at a couple Kleenex, ripping them in his haste, wiping at his eyes, blowing his nose. He squirmed in his seat.

"Does this remind you of where you should be?"

Henry didn't answer the question, but he sniffed and thought of large hazel eyes and a music box he used to wind up every night.

***

"So how'd you do that blood spell thing anyway?" Samuel asked, putting the DVD back in its case.

"Soul magic. I...wouldn't expect a hunter to understand."

"See, this is why I didn't want to be stuck with you," Samuel said pointedly.

Henry frowned. It was the truth. Though, the truth didn't always need to be put so bluntly. Samuel really was helping; he felt a lot better after Samuel opened the pill bottle for him and set the movie up, even if he still missed John.

"I'll tell you about it sometime, maybe over drinks," Henry said.

Samuel eyed him suspiciously. "You know, half the time you sound like you're coming onto me."

Henry blinked. He looked at Samuel for a moment, considering him. "I wasn't. But," he admitted, voice affected by his sinuses, his appraising glance fever-heavy, "I don't think I'd object."

"Knew it," Samuel said with a small look of triumph. "This gaydar of mine is like 3 for 0 now."

Herny frowned. "What's gaydar?"

Samuel just laughed. "Did you have a wife, Winchester?" he asked.

Henry smiled absently, a little sadly. "Yes, but she was gone by the time I was transported."

"Gone like dead? I'm sorry," Samuel said honestly.

"No," Henry said. "But she was definitely gone. We didn't have anyone else. John got put up for adoption. I don't know if they treated him right. I don't know anything about his life except what's in that journal, and what Sam and Dean have told me."

"They told me that just after I died, Mary saved his life," Samuel supplied, and Henry was touched by the effort. "And they said that, once, an angel used him as a vessel. Can you imagine? An archangel."

Actually, Henry _could_ imagine. But he said, "Wow," because he'd never expected that for John. That meant either he or John's mother must have been too. "Which one, Michael, like Dean? Or...?"

Samuel nodded. "No, not Lucifer," Samuel said, then reached a sudden understanding, staring at Henry. "Does that mean Mary...?"

"Maybe it was you or Deanna, but it could have been because of John's mother, or even because of me," Henry pointed out. 

At the mention of his wife, Samuel suddenly turned stony. He'd really loved her, Henry noted. Henry picked at some more popcorn from his bowl. He'd not eaten much. He was grateful, but at the same time he didn't really feel like popcorn. He'd thought he would, but the sickness was now telling him he was better off with soup. He pushed the bowl aside.

"Um. Good moment, Samuel. You did more than enough for me tonight." Henry sniffed again, took out the thermometer, checked his temperature.

"What's it say?"

"Normal. I'm back to normal." Temperature wise, at least.

"Go back to bed and rest," Samuel told Henry.

***

There was a quiet knock at the door, then, when Henry didn't respond, a louder one. Henry stayed asleep, though. Samuel pushed the door open and sat a bowl on the night stand, setting a spoon down with a clink right next to it.

***

"Henry?" Sam asked, shaking his shoulder gently. Henry blinked his eyes open.

"How was the hunt?" He noted a few bloodstains on the plaid of Sam's shirt.

"Ah, good. Good." He glanced at the night stand. "Did you make yourself soup?"

Henry furrowed his brow. "Must have been Samuel." He watched Sam look at the soup and grin widely. "We watched Casablanca. Thanks for setting that up."

"I thought you two would get along," Sam said. "Here, I'll heat this up and be right back."

Henry furrowed his brow and thought about it. Yeah, they did get along. Maybe, despite the bickering, maybe _because_ of the bickering, Winchesters and Campbells did alright together. Maybe they were even good for each other sometimes.

Samuel hadn't been as macho and ready to prove something as some of the hunters Henry had known in the past. He thought a little, they all thought a little before shooting. 

Henry ate the tomato and rice soup, very grateful.

***

"Thanks for the soup," he told Samuel when he felt better.

Samuel looked sad for a moment. Henry figured he might be remembering his daughter, or maybe his wife. 

"I'll take that drink sometime," Samuel finally said. "And by that I mean drink, and that talk, but not...."

"No, I understand. You're not even my type," Henry lied quickly. 

The look Samuel gave said he didn't quite believe it. The older man swallowed, then pushed past the awkwardness into a laugh. "Yeah, and you're not mine either," he said, as if to say that sort of, kind of, just maybe Henry was.

Henry waited until Samuel turned his back to bite his lip.

***

"But why would I want to do that?"

"You never know when a spell might come in handy, even that one," Henry laughed. "The human mind has an incredible capacity, if you store information wisely."

Samuel raised a brow. "I'm getting too old for shit like that," he announced.

"I could teach you."

Samuel looked tempted.

***

"I used to wind that music box every night," Henry confessed to the lip of the bottle.

"I used to tell Mary angels were watching over her. I didn't realize how true it was."

Their eyes met, and they smiled.

***

"I don't think I could love someone as much as I loved Deanna," Samuel confessed.

"I've never loved anyone but my son," Henry confessed in return.

***

"You're way too drunk. Come here. Let me help you. You're gonna fall, you lightweight."

Henry bit his lip hard as he was hefted up to his feet, burying his face in Samuel's shoulder when the room spun. "This is setting off my gaydar," he said.

"It's probably setting off more than that, or it would be if you weren't so drunk." 

Henry was so confused by the innuendo that he released his lip and leaned back, staring blearily at Samuel. "What are you talking about?"

Samuel didn't answer. He led Henry to his room, pushing the cracked door open wide. He urged him to the bed and down onto it almost gently, reaching over to turn the lamp on. He was pulling away from the bed when Henry leaned up and grasped his hand with a hint of force.

Samuel stilled, looking down at Henry's earnestness. The same earnestness that had been in John when he was trying to win Samuel's approval. Samuel swallowed. He eyed their joined hands.

"Thanks," Henry said, smirking a little. "You're actually a very sweet man. I misjudged you."

Samuel stood there and tried to think of some kind of reply, but everything he thought of felt wrong, like it wasn't the time. With his other hand, he patted Henry's hand. Then, he let go, slipping both hands free.

"Night, Henry."

"Night, Samuel," Henry said with a nod that started, then stopped when Henry got dizzy.

Samuel flicked the main light off and was shutting the door behind him when he heard Henry start to hum that old, familiar tune. He opened the door again, hesitating. 

"Sam'yul?" Henry asked, looking surprised to see the door open again.

"Angels are watching over you," Samuel whispered gruffly, and then he was gone and the door was closed for the night.


End file.
